


Breaking

by sarai377



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Angst, Blood, Dark, Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-27 22:37:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13890600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarai377/pseuds/sarai377
Summary: They both feared this day would come. They had discussed it, abstractly, ever since discovering that Robin was Grima’s avatar.(In which Robin asks Chrom to save him from becoming Grima.)mChrobin, angst, DARK ENDING (tw: Blood)





	Breaking

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by all the Chrobin discussion on Twitter lately, but mostly inspired by this post: https://twitter.com/tecchi_kun/status/971010905759600642 Please take a look before you read, as it is a direct response to that!

_“Chrom… kill me. Before I turn into him.”_

 

Chrom trembles, staring at Robin before him. He can’t help but see those two extra eyes beneath his left eye, blood-red and glowing, flickering with light as they open and close.

“Don’t…” he breathes. _Don’t ask me to do this_. But he can’t say that to him. He can’t ask Robin to take it back. “Don’t cry,” he says instead, one hand coming up to Robin’s face to sweep away the tears, but more just fall in their place, staining his glove dark.

Falchion feels heavy at his side, the straps across his chest constricting like snakes. He forces a slow deep breath, something sharp and razor-edged squirming through his insides. For a moment, he thinks he’s going to be sick.

“Robin…” He gathers his tactician into his arms. He feels so small and fragile, a stark contrast to the crystal-sharp intelligence, that larger-than-life personality that Chrom has fallen head over heels for.

Robin makes an awful sort of choking sound, and Chrom’s cloak tugs and twists behind him. “Please,” he whispers into Chrom’s shoulder.

They both feared this day would come. They had discussed it, abstractly, ever since discovering that Robin was Grima’s avatar. Robin had been understandably upset over it, had admitted to hearing that compelling voice in his mind. Chrom had convinced him that everything would be fine, but they had both been aware of this possibility. And Robin has been fine.

Except, sometimes Robin would get this distant look in his eyes, almost as if he were… losing something. He would stop what he was doing, and tilt his head, listening to music that only he could hear. But then Chrom would take his arm, and Robin would shake his head and offer up a tired smile, and things would be fine. _I’m just tired_ , he would say, smiling, and they would move on to planning or marching.

Except… things aren’t fine now.

Robin trembles, and Chrom can feel his tears wet and cold on his bare arm. Part of him wants to shove Robin back, to run away like some feral animal, and he hates that weakness. He could never do this, never walk away from Robin. They’ve been there for each other since the moment he found him in that field…

Chrom sniffs angrily, eyesight glittering and fractal through tears. He won’t cry. He can’t make this any harder on Robin than it already is.

Robin pulls back, looking up at Chrom, and Chrom relaxes his arm just a bit, enough that he can see both of Robin’s eyes - all four of them, now. His left eye has gone red, taking on a life of its own. Chrom sees the strength in Robin, this pillar of defiance and passion. He knows exactly how hard it was for Robin to ask him to do this. Robin doesn’t make miscalculations. He wouldn’t ask Chrom to do this if he wasn’t certain that there’s no return. The transformation has begun.

Chrom can’t stop the tears which trail from his eyes, traitorous and desperate.

The corner of Robin’s mouth twitches up, even as he reaches to Chrom’s cheek and brushes them away.

Chrom bends down and kisses Robin, and it tastes salty. Robin is shaking so hard, but he grabs Chrom’s neck and pulls him close. They both know what this kiss is, and both don’t want to end it.

“I love you,” Robin whispers into Chrom’s mouth.

“I love _you_ ,” Chrom says back, and feels as if his world is collapsing around him, as if everything is ending here and now, in their little oasis of peace, their tent where they’ve spent countless hours planning, soothing each other’s wounds and aches… where they’ve made love, when they had the energy for it. It is fitting, then, that this is where it ends.

Falchion slithers from its sheath, quiet and yet too loud. Robin clings to Chrom, hands on his arms - _not yet_ , he means, and Chrom waits, the blade exposed to the night air, a promise or a threat.

Chrom almost drops Falchion as he thinks about having to clean the blood off of it, as he’s done countless times after battle, but his sweat-slicked fingers are covered in gloves, and his grip remains firm.

Robin’s hand moves up to Chrom’s hair, caressing the back of his neck. “I’m sor--”

“Don’t,” Chrom interrupts, and with his left arm pulls Robin up against him, tight, burying his face in his neck. He smells vanilla and old parchment and the faint stink of Elthunder, from the last time Robin called his magic. “Just… tell me when you’re ready.” Each syllable hurts more than the last, his throat tightening around them until the last word barely squeezes out.

Robin says nothing, just holds onto him, trembling, for what feels like seconds or hours - it is too soon - and then Chrom feels his grip loosen. _Too soon._

“Chrom… I’m ready.” His voice sounds remarkably smooth, and only Chrom would notice the tremor in his voice. He’s putting on a facade of calm, for Chrom, but he can see right through it.

_I’m not_ , Chrom thinks, _I’mnotI’mnotI’mnot -_ but he won’t make this any harder on Robin than it already is.

Slowly, they pull apart, Robin stepping back. He is still crying, but some of the pain has drifted off his face, as if it’s too much to contain all at once.

Chrom swipes at his eyes. He raises Falchion across his body, pointing the sharpened edge at the center of Robin’s torso. Chrom is ready to catch Robin, afterwards, left hand gentle on his shoulder.

He blinks. There on the back of his eyelids is Robin’s smiling face, dappled with sunlight through the leaves, a lazy summer afternoon panning out around them. They test out Falchion’s capabilities in the field where they met, shearing through stumps and apples, inspecting the pristine cuts. Chrom is glad to show off his skill with the blade, and Robin makes absent notations, watching him a little more than strictly necessary. _It’s the sharpest blade in the world_ , Chrom had told Robin. _It can cut through almost anything_.

Chrom looks at the man he loves, that he _needs_ with every fiber of his being, and hesitates. Falchion feels uncomfortably heavy, the tip wavering downward for a moment.

“Chrom,” Robin says, sounding desperate, eyes wide. There’s a strange ringing in Chrom’s head, but he still hears Robin’s words as if they are spoken directly into his ear. “Chrom, plea--”

Chrom thrusts, and Falchion strikes true.

Robin makes a terrible sound, a tight-jawed scream, like he’s trying to hold it in. The blade encounters no resistance, but it should. It should feel like _something_ , this effortless mortal wound. If Chrom hadn’t been watching, he would have thought he’d missed.

Robin falls to one knee, all four eyes squeezed shut, curled around the blade, glimmering darkly in the candlelight. Robin’s purple cloak might darken with blood - Chrom can’t tell, and doesn’t linger on it. Robin claws at Falchion’s hilt, his body wanting it out, but he can’t get enough leverage to remove it. Chrom catches Robin’s shoulders before he slumps, takes hold of Falchion again, and pulls it free, then quickly gathers him into his arms.

The blade falls unnoticed to the rough ground, all of Chrom’s attention on Robin.

The tactician pants with sharp, broken breaths, trying to speak. “Chro--- I… Tha… nk - you.” Each shallow puff of air hits Chrom’s neck like a brick. There’s blood at the corner of his mouth, and it spatters Chrom when he coughs

Chrom wraps his arms around Robin, holding him as close as he can, feeling the life seep out of him, second by second. He’s seen enough death and dying, at this point, to know - not even Lissa could save Robin from this.

“I love you,” he breathes against Robin’s hair, salt on his lips. He’s breathing hard, too, big gulps of air. “I love you.”

One of Robin’s eyes, dark but not red, looks up at him, full of regret but also relief. There’s compassion too, and Chrom shakes, realizing that Robin feels _bad_ for him. He’s leaving Chrom all alone.

“Love… you,” Robin says, and makes another awful noise, hand tightening at the crook of Chrom’s elbow.

“Don’t go, please,” Chrom whimpers, knowing it’s futile, but _he’s not ready_. “Don’t go, Robin, there was so much I wanted to show you, to share with you, I…” He chokes on the words, and just holds Robin tight.

Robin’s hand snakes up to cup his cheek, thumb dipping against the curve of his mouth. “We’ll meet again,” he whispers, sucking in a sharp breath and coughing out blood. “In a better… life.”

Chrom holds him until his hand falls away, until his breathing fades… until the others discover the source of that scream.

Until his heart stops breaking.

**Author's Note:**

> (Sorrynotsorry - I have been dying over this idea for two days straight and it all culminated here...)
> 
> Please let me know what you thought! I apologize if there are any glaring errors - I combed through it a few times but I'm feeling a little scattered today... 
> 
> Thank you to Terra for letting me write a response to their artwork(!) and to Zet for always encouraging my angst, and Luxray for screaming about Chrobin with me.


End file.
